Chapter 26: The Boy on the Field

2022-05-20

Right now we’re standing in the backyard of Principal Zhang’s house.

Half of the backyard is tiled, the other half just bare earth. Scattered flowers have managed to survive here and there, but it’s clear no one’s cared for them in ages. Most are withered and dry.

Hu Jiajia took a deep breath and pointed to a spot in the southwest corner.

I brushed aside the top layer of soil with my fingers, pinched off a bit and put it in my mouth. It’s a trick I learned as a kid—just by the taste and the moisture, you can tell if the soil’s been disturbed. As I tried to gauge how damp it was, and what else might be mixed in, I saw Guan Zengbin carrying a small curved trowel.

“You had a shovel all along and didn’t say anything?” I grumbled. “Made me taste dirt for nothing.”

“You never asked,” Guan Zengbin shrugged, like it was no big deal.

I gave up. “No need to dig anymore. The soil beneath is much looser than the surface, and the texture’s finer. That means someone turned it over not long ago. There’s even a rooty flavor. My guess—someone chopped through the plants down here.”

Guan Zengbin snapped the shovel in half and tucked it away in his Custom Toolkit. Only then did he say, “Impressive. I don’t need to bring tools anymore; I’ll just bring you instead.”

“So that means…” Gu Chen glanced between us and then at Hu Jiajia, who stood right by his side.

So, this spot here really was disturbed recently, but whether or not a body was ever buried here, we still can’t be sure.

We found the tray for cups in Principal Zhang’s kitchen, but not a single cup was on it.

“They were part of a set. The other cup had a W on it—the first letter of his wife’s name,” Hu Jiajia said, staring at the empty tray. She looked puzzled. “But now there’s not a single cup left. I remember he drank water from his cup, too. Where did it go?”

Hu Jiajia turned to look at us. We looked at her in return.

Where did that cup go? Someone must have taken it.

Bits and pieces of clues started chaining together in my mind. Only a few blank spots left—if I could fit those pieces, I’d have the full story. Tugging at my own hair, I dropped onto the sofa where Principal Zhang used to sit.

Some people are alive, yet others can’t wait for them to die. Some people are dead, yet someone tries to keep them living.

A corpse might just be a tool.

Inside the office.

“Gu Chen, go dig into Gao Rui’s girlfriend from another city,” I said. “I’m giving you a day—find out everything, every detail about him and Gao Rui. Don’t miss a single thing.”

“Got it.” Gu Chen nodded.

“Xiao Liu, take a few people and look into the attending surgeon who operated on Zhang Mingliang,” I turned to Xiao Liu. “If you have to use extreme methods, fine. Just make sure you get all the surgical records from Zhang Mingliang’s operation, you hear?”

Xiao Liu flexed his fingers, then grinned. “Special methods are what I do best.”

Gu Chen and Xiao Liu each left with a team. Now it was just me and Guan Zengbin in the office.

“So, what am I supposed to do?” Guan Zengbin pointed at himself, index finger to his chest.

“You’re running an experiment,” I said, giving him a look. “How do you make someone who died ten days ago look like they only died five days ago? You’re the forensics expert—I’m counting on you.”

Guan Zengbin stroked his chin, eyes locked on me. “Did you find some hard evidence? Are you saying Jiajia is the real killer?”

“That’s what I think,” I answered seriously, nodding as I started for the door.

But Guan Zengbin blocked my way, leaning an arm against the wall. “Hold on. At least explain things before you run off. How could Jiajia be the killer? I’ll ask you bit by bit. Only if you answer, I’ll let you go.”

Guan Zengbin and Hu Jiajia seemed really close—just like my short time with Gao Rui made me feel he was a decent guy. Feelings like this might cloud our judgment, but people are emotional creatures; only saints are truly detached.

“Fine, ask away,” I said.

“Principal Zhang’s time of death was five days ago!” Guan Zengbin held up a finger. “I checked.”

I shook my head, pushing down his hand. “Someone could have faked the time of death. You, as the forensics expert, should know that. Maybe you missed it. Re-examine the corpse. Don’t let a single detail slip by.”

Guan Zengbin nodded. “That’s actually possible. I’ll count that as a pass. Then tell me: If Principal Zhang was dead, how could he write those four threatening words on the wall for Jiajia, or stalk her?”

“Because it wasn’t Principal Zhang!” I shot back, not hesitating a beat. “Not even close. I smelled the clothes in Principal Zhang’s wardrobe—someone planted those on purpose. None of the other teachers ever lost anything, either.”

Guan Zengbin frowned, like he was replaying the scene in his head.

“But besides Principal Zhang, who else had keys to his place? Don’t tell me—a burglar…” He suddenly cut himself off. I figured he’d realized who was able to move freely in and out of the house.

Guan Zengbin rubbed his head with one hand, bracing himself against the wall with the other. It took a moment before she finally spoke. “You mean Gao Rui put that stuff in Principal Zhang’s closet? Gao Rui is the one? But Gao Rui clearly lived with Hu Jiajia—how?”

“It’s someone else,” I said, wagging a finger.

“Then who?” Guan Zengbin chased after my answer as I kept shaking my finger.

I gently took Guan Zengbin’s arm off the wall and walked out. “If my guess is right, the person is Zhang Mingliang.”

“But the only person Zhang Mingliang always hung out with was Gao Rui, and at that time you hadn’t lived with Gao Rui yet. How would Jiajia have even seen him?” Guan Zengbin finally found a hole in my theory. “Doesn’t add up—how do you explain that?”

I shrugged, spreading my hands. “That’s why I have to check. Your task shouldn’t wait—the truth is almost out.”

“You really believe Hu Jiajia is telling the truth? That she just loved Gao Rui too much, so she faked the crime scene?” Guan Zengbin fired off one last question.

I let out a sigh. “Gao Rui had just been arrested. Within one hour, Hu Jiajia showed up. How could she possibly stage the whole thing in that short time? Maybe what you think happened is the exact opposite of the truth.”

“There’s no cracks in her story. But Gao Rui’s version—he can’t explain one thing. There wasn’t a single speck of blood on any floor above sixteen in that building, and the only footprints on the stairs belonged to Old Zhang. So how did the killer get away?” I shot back.

Guan Zengbin mulled it over, then said, “Maybe Old Zhang didn’t check thoroughly and the killer just hid on floors one to fifteen, or… was Old Zhang the killer?”

“There’s only one possibility, no matter how wild it sounds.” I said it calmly.

“What possibility?” Guan Zengbin pressed.

I stepped outside and only looked back to say, “I’ll tell you when I find out.”

When the moon climbed straight overhead to the east, I arrived in Gao Rui’s city. At Fourth High School, where Gao Rui studied, I finally got the answer. Gao Rui’s old homeroom teacher had retired; she’s a sixty-year-old woman who confessed a secret she’d kept for eight years.

It happened eight years ago.

Though she was in her fifties, she liked to stroll around the field after evening self-study, even though that meant it was already close to 11 PM. Her husband always wanted her to retire—she had to get up at six, wouldn’t be home until midnight. How could a woman her age keep up?

But she insisted her eyes and ears were sharp as ever—no need to retire early.

She couldn’t let go of her students. This was her tenth graduating class.

Watching these kids, she almost felt young again.

“This is the last batch,” she thought, walking to the far end of the field.

Then she heard a rustling noise.

She might’ve been old, but her heart wasn’t. She knew young couples liked to chat here after study hours. As long as they didn’t do anything out of line, she’d let them be. Hiding behind a tree, she listened to the two students not far away. When she finally saw who it was, she realized one of them was her own student. The other boy she didn’t recognize.

It was two young men.

She heard her student say, “I want to be with you for the rest of my life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

But the other pushed him away and snapped, “Why are you like this? I told you, this is the last time. We were just kids before, we didn’t know any better. But I can’t let you cling to me for life. This is the last you’ll see me—I’m never coming back to this city.”

“Even if you’d die for me, it doesn’t matter. Got it?” The other boy’s voice shook, barely holding back his tears. “We can’t be together. What are you thinking?”

“Zhang Mingliang, I’d do anything for you—even die!”

The words echoed across the empty field, and the second boy worried someone would hear and quickly ran off into the night.

That student’s name was Gao Rui.